


Sunrise

by kwlosko



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon-typical language, Gen, Panic Attacks, background angel/husk, background vaggie/charlie, mentions of abuse, oh god I am so sorry, they're doing their best, uhhhhhhhhh the power of friendship???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26742661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwlosko/pseuds/kwlosko
Summary: Vaggie can't sleep. Neither can Angel. At least they have each other.
Relationships: Angel Dust & Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello I haven't written proper angst in YEARS but this fandom is uhhhh bringing something out in me.
> 
> I have some wonderful inspirations:  
> https://twitter.com/hntrgurl13/status/1297858099076792320?s=20  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDD-GuCc62I (please do check this animatic out - it is AMAZINGLY underrated)
> 
> Anyway, SpiderMoth friendship is very important to me and I hope that you enjoy!

_ No one knows when Angel got home. _

_ There’s a  _ ruckus _ , that much is sure. It’s glass shattering and wood thumping and Vaggie has her spear gripped tight as she rushes up to his room. She doesn’t know if there’s an intruder, if Angel is in danger, if Angel is just pissed and bitching about it by destroying hotel property. But the door is just barely ajar, and she wastes no time rushing in, ramming it open with her shoulder. _

_ Sure enough, Angel is in the middle of throwing one of Niffty’s nice little handpicked vases into the wall.  _

_ And there’s a moment where Vaggie grips her spear tight, where she opens her mouth, where she goes to yell at him. _

_ Somewhere in that split second, her eyes go beyond the arch of his back, the violent grip of two of his hands around fragile material that shatters the moment that it hits the plasterboard. _

_ He’s still dolled for a show, wearing that pretty, dark blue dress that he likes so much. Except that now it barely covers anything, torn up the side and down the center of his bust, showing the fluff of his chest as much as the bare softness of his outer thigh. And there… There are  _ bruises _ , in those places he usually covers, around the curve of his hip, and… _

_ No. _

_ No, there are red scratches littering around finger-shaped marks there, but as her eyes trail upward, it’s clear that it’s not just that he covers that up. Because they’re on his arms, up his shoulders, around his throat, in places that she sees every goddamn day, except that there are smudges of what looks like makeup around the edges of some of them. _

_ His cheek is swollen and crimson, his lip caked in a smear of dried blood. The rest of him turns red, too, heating with anger and hurt as he fixes his eyes on her, puffy and bloodshot and filled with tears, beyond the ones that are already dried down the sides of his face.  _

“Get the fuck out!”

- - -

_ “Hey, Vaggie, is Angel okay?” _

_ She still has her spear in a death grip, as she turns to frown at Charlie. It’s familiar, dark, angry, but it hurts a little, doesn’t meet her eyes. She doesn’t let show just how rapidly her heart is beating. _

_ “He’s being a fucking drama queen, breaking our stuff. I’m gonna let him get it out of his system before I tear him a new one.” _

- - -

Vaggie’s footsteps are light, careful, as she slips out onto the rooftop and eases the door shut behind her. She feels the cement clearly through thin socks, striped pajama pants swishing around her ankles.

A sickly sweet smell hits her nose, and she wrinkles it as she turns to the silhouette curled up on the floor, awash in faint light. She can still see the redness of the smoke billowing around him.

“Angel… What’s Charlie gonna think if she finds out you’re still sneaking those cigarettes around?” It’s said with a sigh, as she goes to sit beside him, crossing her ankles.

She gets a shrug in response, a pair of glassy, mismatched eyes peering down at her. “Probably the same thing she’ll think when she finds out you’re sneaking outta bed at 4 am?”

Her face screws up again, but she doesn’t protest. “What, concern for my well-being that’s overwhelmed by the thought that she’s doing something wrong?”

“ _ Bingo _ .” Angel takes another drag of his cigarette, gazing back up at Hell’s sad mockery of a moon.

Vaggie’s tired of it. Of the oppressive light, of the red bleeding through the atmosphere until it sinks into her bones, makes her feel hot and weak regardless of the temperature.

Angel’s been here for ten times as long as she has. And now he has curls of red, something thick and potent and humid, coiling around his throat.

“You need to stop smoking that crap.” She shifts, folds her knees up against her chest, instead. “God knows what Valentino’s putting in them.”

Angel only hums, gazing down at the roll of paper between his fingers. “I got a few regular cigs on me, if you want one. They ain’t my thing, but Cherri likes ’em.”

Vaggie hesitates, a quiet vice in the back of her mind goading her into accepting the offer. “I’m alright. I managed to quit that, at least.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, something twisted and half amused, between drags. “Better off than me, toots. Guess we already knew that, though, huh?”

She rolls her eyes, elbows him in the side and gets an indignant squawk out of him in return. “Charlie’s been there for me for a few years now. Besides, not being addicted to that crap doesn’t make me better than you. We’re... all here for different reasons, right?”

A silence, settling heavy over them even as Angel gives a quiet hum of agreement before taking another drag.

It only lasts so long before Vaggie can speak up. “What’s with you and Cherri Bomb anyway, huh? She seems like the only person you trust.”

“Ya ain’t wrong.” He toys with the cigarette between his fingers, focused on how it shifts. “I know she doesn’t want me for sex or money or any of that shit, ya know?”

“Is she a lesbian, too?” Vaggie doesn’t know much about her, and Angel seems… more comfortable around Vaggie than the rest of the hotel, as well. Maybe that’s all it is.

“Oh, no, no.” A rough laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not a sexuality thing.  _ Believe _ me, I’ve had plenty of johns who  _ say _ they’re straight, and go home to their wives when we’re done. Even had a couple of gals who like ladies and say they’re only interested in me because of the tits and the high voice, you know? But a lesbian that’s in a relationship with another girl  _ and _ seems constantly tired of my fuckin’ bullshit? Eh. I guess I can trust you don’t want sex outta me.”

There’s a brief moment of silence because Vaggie doesn’t know how to respond to that, to the fact that it took that much for him to think that she isn’t interested in fucking him.

“That’s what gets me, you know?” Angel lets out another laugh, dryer, throwing his head back with a grin that looks like it hurts a little bit, dead in his eyes. “I don’t… get what you want from me.”

“Me?” Vaggie laughs, shakes her head… But yeah. Her laugh is a little bit dead, too. “Charlie’s the one who wants something from you. You know, that big, grand old scheme of trying to make people  _ better _ , and seeing the best in people, always, and… She saw something in you.” 

There’s too long of a silence, before Angel speaks up. “Ah, well, can’t be right all the time, right?”

She rolls her eyes, reaching out to smack his shoulder. “Hey. Maybe I’m starting to see it, too.”

“Ooh~” He giggles this time, but his eyes are still glassy when he looks at her. “Gettin’ soft on me, huh, Vags?”

She resists the urge to smack him again. “You know, you didn’t really answer my question.”

“Oh? And what question would that be?” Another long drag, the cigarette slowly dwindling in his fingers.

“Why do you trust Cherri Bomb so much? Why are you so sure she doesn’t want anything from you?”

He stares at his fingers for a long moment, averts his gaze to the sky before he speaks. “She saw me when I… really hit rock bottom. And she just… Sat there. Ya know? She listened and helped and… Hey, she coulda taken advantage of me. It woulda been real easy. So if she didn’t do it then, why would she now?”

“That… That’s it?” 

Vaggie’s heart is twisting in her chest, and she doesn’t know what to do about it. She knows better than to ask Angel what happened.

“What, whaddaya mean ‘that’s it’?” Only when he puts the butt out against the floor does he look at her properly. “Ain’t many people who’ll help someone out like that without expectin’ anythin’ in return.”

“But…” He’s been there for seventy years. She  _ knows _ he has family, and she knows they don’t approve, but that… That’s all… “She’s the  _ only _ one you trust.”

“Says somethin’, huh?” His smile is twisted, his fingers already twitching slightly. “But ya know… I wouldn’t be tellin’ ya this shit if I… totally didn’t trust ya.”

She blinks at him in surprise, before she finds the tiniest smile beginning to come to her lips. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Hey, you’ve told me shit only Charlie knows, so… I guess you trust me. I can at least try to return the favor.”

Vaggie’s next words come out a breath away from a confession.

“So… people don’t trust you, either?”

She knows that she’s prickly. Abrasive. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt, when people give her that  _ look _ , so constantly guarded against her.

“Nah, plenty of people trust me. I’ve had men confess their whole life stories to me in bed. But they trust… this idea they got in their head, ya know? Not… me.” He begins reaching for his jacket pocket, looks between it and Vaggie, and drops his hand.

“That’s a no, Angel.”

He sighs, reaches up to brush his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, I guess. … Ya know, we’ve seen shit no one else has, right? About each other? Like, uh. Like the time you walked in on me in my room. Fuck knows what I’d do if fuckin’  _ Alastor _ saw me like that. You didn’t, uh. … Ya ain’t so bad, Vaggie.”

She just blinks at him with her one good eye, trying to absorb the compliment. Only after a few long moments does she begin to feel a smile forming at her lips, barely visible but enough to make her avert her eyes. 

The silence is broken by Angel’s phone vibrating. Vaggie turns back to watch as he takes it out with one hand, holds it with two, looks at it with a frown that tells her all that she needs to know.

“Don’t answer it.”

He scoffs, shakes his head. “If I don’t answer it, he’s gonna have my  _ head _ .”

“Tell him you were asleep. You don’t need to answer him at 4 in the goddamn morning.”

He shrugs, the phone still buzzing away in his hands. It’s telling, that Husk and Charlie and Vaggie and Niffty and Cherri Bomb each have little personalized ringtones… Even Alastor has some old jazz song.

Val’s name buzzes away quietly.

“He doesn’t care.”

“Yeah, well, he can answer to me and Charlie.” She elbows him, light. “You’re our responsibility now, and we can’t have him waking you up and then waking up the rest of the damn hotel because you can’t be quiet for shit.”

Angel just stares at her for a moment before he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back as he swipes to hang up. “Fuck, alright, babe. I’m sure you and your little spear are just gonna make him piss his stupid robe.”

She barks out a short laugh, shakes her head. “Hey, I’ve got the princess of Hell on my side, here. … And she’s on yours, too, you know.”

When his face settles, it’s with a bittersweet smile, staring ahead. “Yeah, I know.”

“So… Why don’t you leave him?”

The corners of his lips twitch downward. “Hey, I thought we had a deal. You don’t talk about Val, I don’t talk about your eye?”

A moment’s hesitation, before she sighs heavily. “I… That’s  _ different _ , Angel. What happened to…” She swallows her words when her chest begins to tighten into painful knots. “That happened when I was alive. It’s in the past. He’s still  _ hurting you _ .”

“Yeah, and?” He rubs his fingers together, stares at them intently. “Fuck all I can do about that. I usually deserve it, anyway.”

She reaches out, grabs his arm with a sudden firmness that makes him gasp, flinch away for a brief moment. “Don’t. Say that about yourself.”

The discomfort in his expression is enough to make her loosen her grasp, pulling away with regret settling into her brow. He brushes it off easily enough, shrugs. “Fine, fuckin’ Christ. I mean it, though. It’s… There’s nothin’ I can do about it.”

Vaggie feels a spark light, frustration combusting into anger and indignation.

“Maybe you can’t, but you aren’t alone anymore!” She gestures behind them, towards the door. “You have a hotel  _ full  _ of people who care about you, Angel. People who’ll protect you against that asshole!”

“People who are gonna get  _ fucked _ if you tell them!” Angel bites back, gesturing in the same direction with a more violent motion and anger finally hitting his expression hard. “What! What do you wanna do, march into Val’s office with your fuckin’ 5 foot 4 ass and little spear and expect to take down an Overlord on your own? Don’t even start on your Charlie bullshit. She’s strong but he knows how to  _ break you _ , don’t you get that! He’d hurt  _ you _ to hurt her. He’d wait for her to be worried and distracted so he’d have an opening to tear her to fuckin’ bits. Cherri’s tried it before. I’ve had to patch her ass up just for talking to him the wrong way, trying to protect me. Niffty’s crafty but she’s weak. Al’s strong, but he doesn’t give a shit about me! And even if Charlie and Al somehow managed to magically fuckin’ team up together and get the leg up on Val, he’s got Vox and Velvet on his side. They…”

His voice breaks, and he grimaces at the sound, curling in on himself. His fingers clench into tight fists, knuckles certainly white beneath his gloves.

“They control the whole underworld, toots. You can’t…” The fire that has already been slowly dimming from his voice is put out with a heavy breath, replaced with exhaustion. Fear. Certainty. “He’d hit you first, distract Charlie. Probably find Niffty next and throw her into the damn wall, right in front of her, just so she’d be worried and stressed out and wouldn’t be able to hold demon form right. He’d lunge for her throat, just to pin her in place, just to make her watch as he t-”

He stops himself, sharp teeth digging jagged into his lip before he forces himself to let them go. His gaze finally centers on her, focused and sure. “You can’t fight them. I’m fucked. I’ll deal. At least I don’t have to deal with the handful of people I actually fuckin’ care about gettin’ hurt.”

Vaggie is left staring, fumbling for words with her mouth slightly ajar.

It’s graphic. It’s invading her thoughts now, the image of Val over her, the idea of him hurting Charlie at all, of him using her as a way to get to…

She grits her teeth as she looks away, hating that Angel has managed to convince her so easily. “Fine. I… I won’t tell them. Not yet.”

“Not eva’.” He looks at her pointedly. “If by some fuckin’ miracle, there’s some chance of bein’ able to beat them up and bein’ my white fuckin’ knight… At least lemme tell Princess myself.”

He waits for her to nod, short and restrained, still frowning up at him. He manages a faint, tense smile in return. She… She can give him that. Maybe she can just ease him to… feeling comfortable telling Charlie. Or something.

Charlie deserves to know why he comes home so late. Why he yells at them for knocking on his door too early, before he’d had a chance to put makeup on. Why he limps to his room sometimes and magically  _ appears _ other times because he climbs up the fire escape to crawl through his window because he’s too beaten up to let anyone see him.

But she guesses it isn’t her secret to tell.

“Ya know…” His fingers twitch again, before he’s rubbing his palm against his knee, giving a dry laugh. “I, uh. I been havin’ nightmares about… About Husk trying to take Val on on his own.” He stares straight ahead, that tense smile twisting into something with quivering lips and gritted teeth and furrowed brows. “About Val mountin’ his wings up in his office like a fuckin’ stag head so I gotta see them every time he asks for me. So he can rub it in my face that… That I can’t leave. That I’m not the only one that he can hurt. That he… Heh. Heh heh heh…” His laugh comes out shaky, sharp, mouth still rigid, forcing itself out into a warped attempt at a smile, all teeth and hurt. He looks like a wire pulled taunt, ready to snap.

Vaggie reaches out to touch his arm and this time, he flinches away violently.

“Don’t. Don’t fuckin’ touch me. Don’t…” He’s still giggling but quieter, forced smile fading, twitching eyes beginning to quiver instead, as all four of his arms wrap tight around himself and he  _ squeezes _ , nails biting down as he bows his head, curling further into a circle, coiled taunt

“A-Angel…” She glances at him, at the sky, at the door, before shifting so she can look at him better, hoping that he looks at her in turn. “Angel, hey, can… Can you look at me? Can you breathe with me?”

“Ah, f-fuck…” Another peal of giggles, interspersed with gasps that sound like his chest throbbing, caving in. “Gettin’- Gettin’ s-sappy on me, Vags? I d- I don’t n-need…”

“You’re having a panic attack, Angel. And I’m… I’m pretty sure you know that.” She’s done this before. She and Charlie have done it for each other more than once, even if… Well, she’s used to being on the receiving end. “Please, just let me help.”

“Fuck…” It’s forced again, choked. His shoulders have started to tremble and Vaggie doesn’t know what to  _ do _ . She isn’t a touchy-feely person but that’s easy to resort to as a comfort and now she’s left with nothing but words. “F-fine…”

“I’m… I’m gonna count, okay? You’ll breathe in through your nose, hold your breath, and breathe out through your mouth.” She waits for him to nod, stiff and staggered, before she begins counting with her fists curled too tight in her lap. They bite her palms overtop of her soft pants.

“Breathe in. One, two, three, four…”

She watches, as he swells the barest bit, silently counting with her.

“Hold. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…”

Silence, the trembling in his shoulders subsiding the barest bit.

“Breathe out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

She watches, silent, as he sags slowly, taking several seconds before sucking in another breath and looking at her. His eyes are rimmed with tears. 

“A-alright. Think I, uh. Ran outta breath on that last one. Can we… try that again?”

And so she does, three more times before Angel’s trembling stops and he just wilts, arms still wrapped around his middle.

She looks for words, goes to ask him if he feels a little better, if he wants to try counting out loud with her. He speaks before she can. 

“Ya know, he’s… I don’t think he knows the whole thing, but… He’s seen the scratches and shit. He, uh. … The other day, he told me I could leave Val. That he doesn’t make much money bartendin’, but it’s enough. That… he’d be able to take care of me.”

He smiles, and where the others haven’t quite met his eyes, this one looks like it  _ aches _ , like something that’s boring into his soul. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, when he turns to her. “I told him he can’t  _ afford _ what it takes to be with me.”

She feels the words pierce through her chest.

Sometimes Vaggie thinks about Angel and Husk like herself and Charlie. Of course, Charlie isn’t burdened with a life of sin and hurt, but they  _ help _ each other. They’ve been there for each other, they’ve pulled each other out of shitty situations and worse thoughts over and over again, and… 

Well, Vaggie guesses that she’s playing a bit of Charlie’s role now, isn’t she? Because Charlie listens to her, strokes through her hair, promises her that it will be okay. Charlie knows everything there is to know about her, every fractured piece that she’s struggling to keep pressed into some shape vaguely resembling a human being.

Angel won’t allow himself to have that.

He has Cherri, and he has her now, but she  _ knows _ that talking to someone that you love is different. That it requires shattering your own walls, allowing yourself to be vulnerable in a way that… That this doesn’t compare to.

She’s still struggling for words, for some kind of comfort, when he speaks again.

“Hey, Vaggie, I got a question for ya.”

She swallows hard, manages a faint smile at the quirk of a smirk that comes to his face, actually seeming lighter. “Yeah? Alright, I’ll bite.”

“How do you say fuck you in Spanish?”

There are three full seconds of silence before she bursts out laughing, a wheezing noise leaving her lips as she hunches over herself, holding her stomach. “Jesus… Alright, fine. I’d use  _ vete a la fredaga _ , but that’s more like go fuck yourself.”

Angel hums in agreement, nodding, the barest hint of sharp teeth showing as his expression seems to warm, seems to kiss something more natural. More… like him. His lower arms unfurl, and he leans back on his hands.“Yeah, the Italian pretty much translates to go fuck yourself, too.”

“Well…” She pokes the ball of his foot with her toe, looking up at him with a smile, realer and warmer than she’s had so far tonight. “You can’t just say that and not tell me the Italian.”

He laughs, rough, bordering a snort. “ _ Vaffanculo _ .”

“Well, doesn’t that sound  _ fancy _ .” She raises her eyebrows at him, something lightly mocking, as her smile twitches upward.

“Oh, yeah, I’m the fanciest bitch you know, toots.” One hand reaches out so his index finger can boop her nose, and he cackles at her mock scowl as she swats it away.

Only a few seconds of silence pass, his hand still in the air, before he speaks again.

“How do you say help me?”

Her smile twitches down, concern and confusion beginning to crease her brow. “ _ Ayúdame _ .”

“Mm, similar!  _ Aiutami _ .”

He’s still smiling. It doesn’t look fake, not really, but he looks… tired.

“Alright, I got one more for ya.” He reaches out, pinches her cheek, and she’s certain it’s just to get her to wrinkle her nose and bat him away again. “How do you say hold me?”

She pauses in the middle of the motion, her fingers still pressed against his palm, not quite frowning, but her eyes tentative, worried. “ _ Abrázame _ .”

He doesn’t pull away. The circles under his eyes seem to grow darker.

“ _ Abbracciami _ .”

There are seconds of silence, of quiet tension, of him  _ looking _ at her before he begins to move to take his hand away and she stops him, curling her fingers around his wrist and dragging him in instead, so her face is pressed up against his neck.

She knows she was right when he lets out a shuddering breath, pulls his hand away from hers so he can wrap three arms around her and use the fourth to stabilize himself against the ground.

It’s funny. He’s all legs, and their height difference is nearly gone, when they sit. She presses her nose into the crook of his neck, anyway.

“Thanks, toots.”

She fumbles for words again, but only allows a few seconds of silence before she’s smiling faintly, wrapping her own arms around him, tight.

“What can I say? Ya ain’t so bad, Angel.”


End file.
